


The Magnus Records 017 - The Fitness Guide

by ErinsWorks



Series: The Magnus Records [8]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast), The Magnus Records
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-09
Updated: 2019-12-09
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:40:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21725404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ErinsWorks/pseuds/ErinsWorks
Summary: In another world, one with overreaching censorships and constant book burnings, benign books and secret libraries, perhaps Sebastian Adekoya would come across a more Nonfictional tome. Perhaps Jared Hopworth would read it and become a better man. Perhaps a score of animals would go free. Perhaps an old friendship would be rekindled.Here at the Magnus Sanctuary, London, we will find out.Start your interview. Share your hope.
Relationships: Jared Hopworth/Sebastian Adekoya
Series: The Magnus Records [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1497773
Comments: 11
Kudos: 74





	The Magnus Records 017 - The Fitness Guide

**MAG017 – Resident 1606 – “The Fitness Guide”**

**KEEPER**

Interview with Sebastian Adekoya, regarding an experience in his career with the Chiswick Foreverwords Movement. Original interview taken June 10th 1999. Audio recording by Jonathan Sims, Record Keeper of the Magnus Sanctuary, London.

Interview begins.

**KEEPER (INTERVIEW)**

Books are so much more than words on paper, you know? They’re this truly perfect method of conveying information, false or true, fiction or nonfiction. People can die, movements can die, organizations can die, but as long as their thoughts and teachings are recorded… do they ever truly cease to exist? No government can silence words that don’t make a sound to begin with. They can only burn them, or hide them.

And that’s why The Monarchy is so dedicated to doing just that. It’s dedicated to making sure that no information survives, except for the information they put out. Take the Bright Hearts Society for instance, or that woman who worked with them, Linette Montauk. Anything that goes against their propaganda, against their regime, cannot be allowed to exist. Because The Monarchy _knows_ that words have power, and it doesn’t want _any_ of us to have power. So the only books we get are books _they’ve decided are powerless._ Books so bland and meaningless that they could never motivate anyone to do anything.

It’s why I joined the the Foreverwords Movement. We save books that the government has been trying to burn away from their open hands. We preserve the stories they’re dedicated to seeing destroyed. It’s a kind of noble work I think. A world without stories that don’t test us is a world that isn’t worth living in, I think. And given that... there is… ONE kind of book they rarely seem to put through their censors. And that… Is tacky self-help books. The idea that there’s something _wrong_ with us, that it’s on _us_ and _us alone_ to create happiness for ourselves, is an idea that governments like The Monarchy love. Because that idea lets them abuse us however the hell the want, and as long as we convince ourselves that it’s _our_ fault we’re miserable, we never reach out to revolt or change or organize. 

So three years ago, when I saw a book boldly titled _The Fitness Guide_ in our _banned or endangered books_ collection, I was understandably confused. So-called "Fitness" books, at least the ones that aren't academic, tend to fall into that category I mentioned previously: They're meaningless drivel filled with a lot of _bad ideas_ any sane doctor would advise against, or peddling essential oils, or acting as if the newest diet fad is all you need to be happy. Usually The Monarchy is happy to let that sort of thing slide. Suspicious as I was that it had been added to the pile, I had to admit this book seemed different from its fellows at a glance. Instead of the usual details- the high-definition picture of a pseudo-scientific pseudo-celebrity, the flashy fonts, the accolades and reviews from papers you've never heard of- The Fitness Guide was decorated with a jade green cover and stark black font. It was a paperback, I think, but it had this sort of leathery texture to it.

I was a bit confused, so I called over Ruth Weaver- one of my fellow members- to ask if she'd seen the book in the news before, or if she remembered who had submitted it. She said that she vaguely recalled a man who had turned in a couple of books like this, but that she hadn't gotten his name or face. This wasn't odd, of course; we run an _explicitly illegal_ organization, and even if the punishment for housing banned books is only a couple years of jail time, our sympathizers aren't exactly looking to get on a Monarchy blacklist. What WAS odd was that it was late summer, yet he was apparently so wrapped up in cozy winter clothes and parkas that his face was impossible to see. 

Ruth said that the book wasn't on the monarchy's banlist, but that there was no reason not to keep it around and skim through it, to see if it was some kind of unpublished revolutionary manifesto. I figured she might have been right, given the fact that the author went entirely uncited. I resolved to read it later.

Unfortunately I was shaken from this resolution by the sight of one Jared Hopworth, so I put the book to the side. Jared and I had once been good friends, living on the same street, pressed into the same schools. But he had always been… well… to put it as bluntly as I can, he’s always been dumb as bricks. When I went to university, he stayed behind, and I think he took it as some kind of betrayal. He spent the time I was away engaging in his own bits of “Revolution” against the monarchy, and it became a game of mutually assured destruction: If he went to authorities to convict me and my people of OUR illegal activity, there was just as much I could have him convicted for. And, unfortunately, that ran both ways. So w-

**KEEPER**

Oh, erm, hello Mr. Bouchard.

**ELIAS**

Do you have a moment, Jon?

**KEEPER**

Not really, I’m sort of in the middle of something.

**ELIAS**

I understand. It’s just that I wanted you to know that you’ve received something of a glowing review from Miss Herne as far as your interviews have gone.

**KEEPER**

Glowing review from- Ah, yes, Naomi. 

Well, I could just as easily say that she’s been a treasure to work with.

**ELIAS**

I’m certain you could.

**KEEPER**

Of course, I’d rather I hadn’t needed to delve into _my own personal finances_ to purchase the equipment required-

**ELIAS**

Regardless, you’ve helped me more than you know by benefitting someone connected to the Lukas family. I have a vested interest in their satisfaction with the Sanctuary.

**KEEPER**

I’ll keep that in mind, I suppose. Now, can I get back to work?

**ELIAS**

Very well. By the way, have you seen Martin?

**KEEPER**

Oh, he’s off sick this week. Didn’t say with what.

[Elias leaves]

 _(Sarcastically)_ … I’m worried about him too, Elias, thank you for the sympathy.

Interview resumes.

**KEEPER (INTERVIEW)**

So we had both silently decided that the best way to go about our lives was to have as little contact with one another as possible. Naturally, that meant that whenever Jared _did_ show his face around my “workplace” it meant that he was either bored, angry, or in need of a favor. And far more of the former than the latter. Sure enough, he began to bore Ruth to disinterest with a slurry of idle chitchat, until she had left. And as soon as she did, with a smooth motion, he sent the entire bin of banned books clattering to the floor. As I bent down to pick up his mess, he bent down too. He'd grabbed the Fitness Guide, and as he stared down at its cover he seemed… blissful. He was holding that book more delicately than I'd seen him hold _anything_ really. He turned around, mumbled something about "needing to get into shape", and walked off. I should've stopped him, but I really wasn't willing to put in the effort.

Nothing else happened at our little base of operations that day, bit on the way home afterwards I passed by Jared's house. I had moved back in with my parents while I was looking for an inconspicuous place to stay, and he had never moved out of his childhood home, so we still lived on the same street. It was late September at this point, so by the time I had walked back from the library it was dark, and I noticed a small shape moving in the pool of orange light below the streetlamp.

As I got closer, I realized that the creature was a rat, and not a dirty, wild rat but a large, white one. Quite well-kept, and clearly a pet that had gotten loose. But even with the knowledge that it was likely a pet prior to its appearance in the street, there was something almost _abnormally_ _ideal_ about the thing. I’m not an expert in rodentology, but as compared to the average rat it seemed… _fitter._ Like a dog kept well-exercised and well-fed. Happy, and satisfied, and with strong little hands that could climb _concrete_ had they truly wished to. 

Far more bizarre was the creature the rat had apparently chosen as its playmate: a common housecat. One that seemed entirely uninterested in eating the strange creature. Upon my seeing the cat, both darted back into the darkness. I hurried home soon afterward.

I didn’t see Jared again for some time. At first I was happy from the constant stress that one of us would be forced to break our trust, but as the days turned into weeks, I started to feel something I wouldn’t have expected to- Worry. If he hadn’t left so strangely the last time he came, I likely wouldn’t have been so bothered with whether or not he would return. But even in the months where he was angriest with me, it was rare that I would ever go a month without seeing him. Still, I resisted the urge to go to his house and find out what happened. If he was in trouble with the law, as he likely was, I’d end up getting myself implicated. And if he wasn’t… well, he wasn’t my problem. 

It was late October when Jared’s mother came in. Given the natural influx of gorey fiction on the internet from the Halloween season, things were always busy this time of year. More bannings, usually of minor creators whose works would never actually be picked up had they not published what was apparently _“obscene”_ writings. So as I was sifting through and categorizing all of the “new arrivals” so to speak, I was surprised by the door opening.

I turned around and there she was. It took me a few seconds to recognize her honestly. I hadn’t seen much of her in the years since Jared and I had been close, and she had aged noticeably, even if she looked… _remarkably_ well put together. She wore a comfy autumn sweater, and her arms were, If I’m being frank, surprisingly well-defined given her age. Something about the way she carried the book made it seem like she could crush it in her fist if she tried. Or at least, she would, if the book didn't look so very strong itself.

When I asked Mrs. Hopworth if she was okay, she just looked up to me and nodded with a soft smile. It occured to me that I hadn't ever seen her here, nor had I recalled alerting her to this _very secret location,_ and I feared that something horrible had happened to Jared and she was now seeing to alerting all those she thought to be his "friends". She dissuaded my fears and told me that Jared had business to conduct, but that he wanted the book to be put back into my possessions. This puzzled me, as I hadn't recalled Jared _ever_ having business he'd be willing to share with his own mother. I didn't say that, of course.

Mrs. Hopworth set the book down at my desk and left. I, in turn, set down my copy of Stephen King's _Misery_ that I'd been delicately clutching. I approached the book and lifted it. It seemed in remarkably good shape actually: I'd seen how Jared treated books, and none of the characteristic wear-and-tear was present on the cover. I reached out to pick it up, and as my fingers touched the cover I felt… _stronger._ I could feel the ungainly weight of the book- it was a solid 5 pounds at least- and yet I could effortlessly lift it as though it were a magazine. It was bizarre, truly.

I decided that I would set it aside for the time being, and read it later. I _would_ read it later, of course, I was certain of that. But I had to keep watch over the other books. Do some record keeping and the like. I placed it with a pile of damaged books and returned to my work.

As I was organizing, I heard the strangest noises from the pile. The sounds of crinkling and crackling, like paper being crumpled or leaves being crushed under feet. I ignored them. They inspired no real fear in me, and I rationalized to myself that it was merely the paper settling. There are no real _shifts_ with the movement, we all just do whatever we can, and I stalled reading the book until 2:00 in the morning.

But as my work began to end, as I slowly turned out the other lights in the building, something about the pile caught my eye. The books touching _the Guide_ had… _fixed_ themselves. Their spines had straightened and stiffened, their papers become un-dogeared, their covers clearer. The books had become stronger.

I laughed at that. It seemed so appropriate somehow, so utterly correct, that those neighboring books should prosper, should be invigorated by it. Just as it seemed proper that when my torch found The Fitness Guide, it looked just the same as it always did. Strong, hardy, and untouched.

I began to read, my fingers once again filled with that bizarre invigoration. As I turned the page, I was greeted with an index, confirming the book's status as a nonfiction. I skimmed through it, before finally coming to the first page. In bold text it read… **_Dogs: Canis lupus familiaris._ ** Described therein was a basic summary of dogs as a whole, the modern day idea of "breeds" and why they detract from the health of their species, etcetera. It went on for pages. Once that was through, I read **_How to care for Dogs_ ** , then **_What to feed Dogs_ ** , and then **_How to keep Dogs fit._ ** It was strange. I read the book with rapt attention, despite its dry and academic presentation, and its clinical descriptions. I was enchanted and charmed by the fine dietary details, the exercise regiments, the play routines. I was more enraptured by this work of nonfiction than stories which touched me on the deepest levels I know. I finished the section, and was confronted with the next: **_Goats: Capra aegagrus hircus._ **

I flipped back to the index, and it became very clear why this book was so large. It was a complete record of animal husbandry, training, and feeding, for _every_ species mankind had ever domesticated. Every bird and beast humanity had stewarded, described in perfect detail. It baffled me that someone had sat down to write this, before a thought crept into the back of my head: _perhaps no one did._

I kept reading. 

And as I did, I realized that every page filled me with a kind of empathy that I did not know I was capable of. By the time I had gotten to **_Cows_ ** I was willing to march to the nearest factory farm and tear the doors open with my bare hands. I was struck by the thought that, even if humanity still ate animals, surely it was our responsibility to treat them with the same respect we did our pets. Surely we could raise them in better ways, if at all. Surely.

And that was when I reached the last section. **_Humans._ **

I set the book down. I was not frightened of the section's contents, no. I was frightened by what the contents would _do_ to me. If each of this blessed book's descriptions had so drastically changed my views on every animal species… How would it change my views on humanity? How could it do so without bias, if a human had written it?

I got up from my seat and stormed out of the building, book clutched against my chest to shield it from the pouring rain. I kept walking, my pace quickly hastening towards my house, until I was stopped... by the cacophony of livestock. A thunderous roaring of _moos_ and _snorts_ and _clucks._ And leading the flock, like a divine shepherd, was none other than _Jared Hopworth._

He was taller now. Handsome, even. He kept that fat belly of his, but his arms had been turned into almost cartoonishly burly appendages. Draped over that statuesque ideal of a body was a long black overcoat, and a woolen scarf was wrapped loosely around his neck. He spoke, and his voice was deep, and clear, and… gentle. I hadn't remembered his voice being _gentle_ like that, not since when we were friends.

 _"Have you read it yet?"_ He asked, just as a cow brushed up against him, gazing at me with big and beautiful brown eyes. _"The_ **_Humans_ ** _section. Have you read it?"_ I shook my head. He frowned.

 _"That's a pity, Seb. I was hoping you'd get it. That we could hang out again and all that. I mean, you love stories so much and…"_ He gestured to the dozens of animals around him, piling into the street. _"... These lil' guys have so many stories to tell."_

He turned around then, and for the first time in years, his disappointment with me truly broke my heart. I felt like he wasn't _Jared Hopworth, the man who tormented me for two years now, for no real reason._ I felt like he was _Jared Hopworth, the simple-minded man with a big heart, and my childhood friend._ He began to wade back into the herd, and the animals began to follow. 

_"Give it a read some time. I'll come back to get it once you're done, alright?"_ I murmured a quiet "Alright" in reply, as he disappeared into the livestock. They followed after him, each one as happy as could be.

I keep the book in my room now, and I haven't touched it since. I still have yet to read it, but I think I will soon. 

I think I'd like to see Jared again.

**KEEPER**

Interview ends.

A small measure of research on Tim and Sasha's parts has revealed a piece of verifiable fact that corroborates this story. On October 30th, 1996, a whole slew of slaughterhouses and factory farms were broken into and robbed. What few witnesses there were described a tall, muscular man, with a large build, tearing the doors straight from their hinges.

… I say "Research on Tim and Sasha's parts", but that seems a misproportion of the work. Tim was suspicious, paranoid, and unhelpful as always, while Sasha described the incidents with a kind of uncanny glee. _All_ of her glee is uncanny, I suppose. I'll never get used to the way she smiles.

That's what's good about Martin, I suppose. The man never speaks to anyone, and he keeps isolating himself, but at least he got the job done without cursing me out or terrifying me. 

I… I miss him. But I doubt he misses me.

… My personal thoughts on my Confidants aside, Mr. Adekoya disappeared from Sanctuary care on June 12th, 1999. There was no sign of struggle or foul play, although his doorknob was found _crushed_ as though a giant hand had attempted to open it.

Recording ends.

**Author's Note:**

> BOY OH BOY MAKING AN OPPOSITE TO THE FLESH WAS... A LOT. I WENT THROUGH A LOT OF DRAFTS. THIS WAS ORIGINALLY "THE TOOTHFAIRY'S TALE."
> 
> For this entity, I'm just going to break my own guideline and tell you the name and details. It's the Graze. The hope for human/animal coexistance, and physical self-idealization. If you're eating what's right for you*, and making sure your food comes from ethical sources, the Graze is happy with you.
> 
> The Graze is not happy with me. I wolf down chips daily. I'm going to have a heart attack at 30.
> 
> *ᴺᵒᵗᵉ "ʷʰᵃᵗ'ˢ ʳᶦᵍʰᵗ ᶠᵒʳ ʸᵒᵘ" ᵐᵉᵃⁿˢ ʷʰᵃᵗ'ˢ ʰᵉᵃˡᵗʰʸ ᶠᵒʳ ʸᵒᵘ ᵖᵉʳˢᵒⁿᵃˡˡʸ. ᴺᵒᵗ ʷʰᵃᵗ ᵐᵃᵏᵉˢ ʸᵒᵘ ˢᵏᶦⁿⁿʸ.


End file.
